


A Broken Fist

by Cerona



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boxing, Angst, Blood, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Injury, M/M, Thinly veiled metaphor, Violence, all relationships implied for now, for perkz leaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28876836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerona/pseuds/Cerona
Summary: Luka faces off against Rekkles for the first time since he left G2, and he was ready to come out victorious once more.What he wasn't ready for was G2 in the opposite corner.(In which Luka is a boxer, G2 is his former gym, and he may have his regrets about that)
Relationships: Martin "Rekkles" Larsson/Mihael "Mikyx" Mehle, Mihael "Mikyx" Mehle/Luka "PerkZ" Perković
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	A Broken Fist

**Author's Note:**

> tw// blood, graphic depictions of violence, depicitions of injuries

Rekkles should be down by now.

Luka fell onto the wooden stool, chest heaving as his corner crowded over him. Zven pulled out his mouthpiece and shouted instructions that went in one ear and out the other, while Mithy pressed a cotton swab to a cut over his right brow. It stung, and the Croatian did indeed hiss, but he never once took his eyes off of his opponent.

Rekkles was in bad shape. His left eye was swollen shut after Luka used it as a punching bag in the fourth round, his ribs bruised after Luka caught him in a clinch and beat it over like a drum, his pale skin red and shimmering with sweat after ten rounds, and his lip split after Luka caught him with a tremendous hook that sent the Swede crashing to the mat. Usually, that was more than enough to take Rekkles down.

But not this time. His rival beat the ten count and rose back to his feet, a fire blazing in his eyes. Luka was so taken aback that he was left on the back foot for the rest of the round, eating punches to the stomach that cut his breath short, and to the jaw that nearly took his head off.

This could not be happening. He _knew_ how to beat Rekkles. He had the blueprint drawn to perfection over the many times he’s fought and beaten the other man in the ring. Rekkles was quick and graceful, a boxer who relied on his technique and speed to carry him to victory. Luka was anything but. He was bullish, gritty, with hands harder than stone. He knew that to beat Rekkles was to break him mentally, to take every shot the Swede threw at him and return it tenfold without fear. Rekkles may be the more proficient fighter, but he lacked the tenacity, the jaw to stand against Luka. His heart was weak, his will fragile, and in the last six times that they’ve fought each other, Luka knocked him out in four of them.

This was not the Rekkles he knew. Oh, the technique was still there, but there was an added bite to his punches now, a blaze that refused to be extinguished. Luka had dealt more damage to him in this bout than all of their other matches combined and yet Rekkles still pressed on, and the Croatian had an inkling that he knew why.

Rekkles had his full attention on Mihael, who was no doubt relaying instructions to him. All around him, the rest of G2 cleaned him up and whispered words of encouragement in his ear. Luka remembered how they were during the earlier rounds, always avoiding his eyes and stealing glances when he wasn’t looking. Now they’re attention was solely on Rekkles, and that was enough to send his blood pumping and teeth grinding.

He knew that one day he would have to face someone from G2. It was the nature of the sport, and they all wanted to get to the top. He had expected to face Martin or Marcin, maybe even Rasmus, but not _him_. Not like this. What right did Rekkles have in taking what was rightfully Luka’s—

A light slap on his cheek, and suddenly he was staring up at Zven. “Hey,” he barked. “Look at me. You’re behind on points. You can’t keep going like this. You have to knock him out next round or you’re screwed.”

Luka nodded. Truth be told, he wasn’t much better off than Rekkles. His entire body was a huge bruise, his legs felt like they were made of jelly, it hurt to even move his jaw after a series of uppercuts Rekkles threw with bad intentions, and there was a cut above his brow that dripped blood into his eyes. Whenever Luka had to blink, the Swede used that opportunity to catch him on the cheek. A knockout was his only key to victory, and he had every intention to do that.

“Look at me. You left them for a reason: to prove that you’re the best anywhere and everywhere, that you can make it to the top with them. You go out there and show them what you’re made of.”

The bell rang, and Luka rose from the stool as his corner left the ring. He banged his gloves together, ready to end this once and for all when he saw Mihael press a kiss into Rekkles’ hair. It was short and brief, but intimate. Judging by the look of awe on Rekkles’ face, he knew full well what it meant.

Mihael used to do it to Luka all the time, to press him on when the going got tough.

Luka saw red.

He bullrushed Rekkles once the ref signalled them to resume, swinging with wild abandon. Luka didn’t care, he just wanted to hurt Rekkles. To beat that pretty face into a bloody pulp, but the Swede refused to cooperate. He dodged and weaved past every punch, the intense focus clear in his eyes. That just made Luka angrier. He wound up one last, giant hook and swung. He didn’t care how well Rekkles could take a punch now, no one could come back from this.

He realized his mistake too late.

Quick as a whistle, Rekkles ducked and drove his fist into Luka’s gut. The Croatian felt the air leave his body, blood escaping from his mouth. The force of the punch bent him over and left him staring at the mat, just in time to see Rekkles’ glove rush up and catch him on the chin.

Luka didn’t remember much after that, only the weightlessness of his feet as they left the ground, the blinding lights shining down on him, and a heavy _thud_ as he crashed onto the mat.

His vision blurred. His head lolled to the side, and the last thing he saw before it all went dark were the horrified faces of his former teammates at G2.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, a thinly veiled metaphor about Perkz leaving. May or may not age well. We'll see.  
> Depending on how my brain juices flow, I may be doing a longer prequel about Rekkles joining G2 and his relationship with everyone (but mostly Mikyx).  
> Also please ignore how there would have been no way that Perkz and Rekkles would fight a total of seven times against each other over their career if this was real life, or that weight classes exist if Perkz was thinking about fighting Wunder lol.


End file.
